“Dr. Herron,” she said very gravely, “I have a sad story to tell you. God knows I’ve been telling lies enough since last night, but to you, at any rate, I will tell the simple truth.” And she told it in all its sadness from beginning to end.
No one interrupted the old lady; she told her story her own way in a simple, direct fashion. Once or twice her voice quivered and she seemed to choke down a sob in her throat, and once only Aunt Judith gave a slight moan from the sofa where she sat, and then looked nervously towards her sister, expecting an instant sharp reproof.
Dr. Herron did not move a muscle as he stood listening in front of Aunt Rosamond, but the veins stood out ominously on his broad forehead, and his fingers were clenched into his hand with the force of the restraint he put upon himself.
Then he spoke very quietly. “Miss Tremarten, someone else has been telling lies here besides you. You are making a great mistake in believing the infamous story that has been told you. Lettice may be wilful, Lettice maybe wild, but elope with that scoundrel she could not. She will come out of this purer than ever. We won’t waste time going over old ground; we will—”
But Dr. Herron’s sentence is not to be finished. There is another rap at the door, and the servant brings in a telegram, which Aunt Rosamond opens hurriedly, reads with one glance, and then falls back in her chair half-unconscious for the thrill of joy that bounds through her heart.
This is what she read:—
“From Andrew Forbes,
“The Manse, Lownhead.“Your puir lassie is safe and under my roof.”
Dr. Herron picked up the telegram and read it through.
“Thank God!” he said, drawing a long breath. “I will go to her at once, and if well enough will bring her back here with me.”
Were the surprises and interruptions of that morning never to end? There is another rap, and this time it is Captain McCormack who wishes to see Miss Tremarten.
“How dare he!” exclaimed Aunt Rosamond, aflame with anger. “Dr. Herron, what shall I do with him?”
“Serve him as you did your sister last night,” growled the doctor. “Lock him up somewhere till I come back. I can’t stop to settle accounts with him now.”
“Lock him up?” repeated the lady. “Where can I put him? There’s only the observatory”—a small round tower built out from the castle parapet—“There’s a big key in the door too,” added the old lady reflectively, “but however am I to get him there?”
“Send down word that you wish to see him in the observatory. First have the big key put on the outside. Then, when he’s fairly in, go up the stairs yourself, lock him up, and put the key in your pocket.”
“Ah,” said Aunt Rosamond, “that’s something worth doing. Judith, be quiet!” Judith was again laughing and sobbing on the sofa. “Dr. Herron, one moment.” The doctor paused on the threshold. “Will it be possible to get Lettice back here in the dark somehow?—smuggle her in without any fuss?”
“I don’t think it would,” answered Dr. Herron, “and I don’t think it would be worth while trying either.”
“But,” pursued the lady, “you see I’ve told so many lies one way or another already, and I really don’t know how to account for it all without connecting Lettice’s name with Captain McCormack’s unless I make up another little story.”
“Tell the simple truth, Miss Tremarten, when you know what it is,” was Dr. Herron’s parting advice, “and see who’ll come out of it blackest—Lettice or Captain McCormack.”
Then he went down to Lord Lochiel to explain his appearance at the castle and to ask for a horse or some means of conveyance to the manse at Loanhead.
It was midday when Dr. Herron arrived at the quiet little parsonage. Miss Maggie Forbes, a gentle-looking, soft little maiden of about Lettice’s own age, met him at the door, rightly guessing the object of the doctor’s visit. “She’s lying down now in the little parlour where we laid her this morning,” she said. “She has been asleep for hours, and lies so still I’m almost frightened when I look at her. Please come in.”
Dr. Herron went in.
The room was small and but scantily furnished, for the good old pastor had not much money to spend upon the refinements or luxuries of life. A high narrow bookcase, flanked by a spindle-legged square table, were the first things that caught the eye on entering. A faded green carpet covered the floor, and long muslin curtains hung on either side of the somewhat low window, which was still further shaded by hanging creepers and a balcony full of plants.
A large old-fashioned sofa stood against the wall sideways to the light, and on this, with a good supply of pillows and a warm striped rug thrown over her, lay Lettice in a calm sweet sleep.
“As a lily among thorns, as a white dove among crows,” was or might have been Dr. Herron’s thought as he looked down on the pure pale face. She slept so lightly she scarcely seemed to breathe. Of course the bright brown hair was tumbling all over the face, and half veiled the neck and arms besides; one little hand supported her head, the other lay outside on the bright-coloured rug. Dr. Herron instinctively and professionally put his two fingers on the wrist.
“She’ll likely have an illness,” said Miss Maggie, anxiously looking up in the doctor’s face.
“She’ll likely have no such thing,” said Dr. Herron indignantly. “She’s too young and healthy for that. All she’ll want will be some long quiet hours of sleep and some good nourishing food directly she wakes.”
As he spoke a rosy flush of colour passed over Lettice’s face, there was a slight fluttering of her breath, and she opened her eyes. Her gaze
